


Just a Different Form

by Atanih88



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Slice of Life, post first time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-23
Updated: 2012-06-23
Packaged: 2017-11-08 09:37:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atanih88/pseuds/Atanih88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little slice of peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Different Form

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angelicfoodcake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelicfoodcake/gifts).



> Written as a part of spnspringfling 2012, for angelicfoodcake

Dean has his head resting on the back of the swing chair. His bare feet are planted on the wooden floor of the porch, pushing back, tempering the back and forth motion. He's got his eyes closed and a bottle of beer sandwiched between him and the swing. The condensation makes the glass slippery, leaving a trace of wetness on his hip.

He hears the odd creak of the house settling and the quiet squeak of the metal holding the swing up. The leaves of the trees rasp against the side of the house, accompanied by lulling sound of the river. The nearness of the water leaves the air fresh and moist against his face, a cool balm over the bare skin of his shoulders, raising goose bumps along his arms. He rubs an absent hand over his chest before dropping it back to his side.

It's nice. Real nice. 

Sure they'll have to beat it out of there in the morning—but for now it's just nice. 

The house is tucked away, trees sealing them off from the neighbors. Not something they could have in a million years, this kind of privacy and gorgeousness at their feet. Not even if they were regular guys, working regular jobs. _Especially_ if they were regular guys. 

Sighing, he sits up, picking up his beer.

The front door opens and he turns to look as he takes a drink. 

There isn't much light out here. They've left the porch light off. They might be sealed off but the neighbors might spot it anyway and come looking. There's no moon either to make it easier to see but the sky is star studded, a pretty sight they don't usually take the time to notice.

Dean likes it like this. He takes in the way Sam's body looks under night hues, all angles and planes in dark shades of grey and blues. He tightens his grip on the bottle.

Sam's skin has the most amazing sheen, highlighting everything perfectly even in the dark; the set of Sam's shoulders, the curve of his hip, the flatness of his stomach and taut muscles of his ass. He has a hand clutching a floral sheet around his hips. It's got a makeshift knot though the sheet is sagging low enough to reveal exactly where that dark trail of hair leads. 

The sheet drags on the floor as Sam eases the door closed behind him. There's a quirk to his mouth and his hair is kind of messed up. He stays there a moment, hand braced on the door, watching Dean as he continues to swing back and forth on the porch swing. 

Dean's not feeling as self-conscious at his state of undress as he thought he would post-sex with his brother. Well. Logically, there's no point in feeling self-conscious after nearly breaking the damn bed upstairs trying to fuck each other's brains out.

It'd been unexpected. 

Coming back, he figured they would've had their back-from-other-planes song and dance down pat. Except this time, maybe because they already knew how it went, it had shifted. The relief of having Sam back with him had left him shaken, the feeling doing more to weaken him than Purgatory itself.

All he'd been able to do was settle back, not even grumbling when Sam slid behind the wheel. 

He'd fallen asleep watching Sam, barely registering the hand that had slid around his neck, fingers tight with strength and need held in check, and the purr of the Impala coursing through him. Everything as it should be.

Need had always been there with them. It had just taken on a different form this time.

Sam crosses the porch to stand opposite Dean. He fixes the knot on the sheet as he goes and it dips lower for a second before holding, stretching taut across his hips as Sam leans back against the porch fence. 

Sam's mouth curves into a smile as his eyes roam over Dean's chest, then down to the jeans Dean hadn't bothered to do up properly before coming downstairs and getting comfortable.

Dean lowers the bottle, shifts in his seat and can't help the small wince at how deep the soreness goes.

"What happened to your pants?"

Sam shrugs a shoulder, scratches right over the groove of his hip and Dean lets his eyes wander too. It makes Sam duck his head, shoulders trembling with his chuckle and dimples making an appearance as he shakes his head, sheepish.

"Couldn't find them."

Dean can't help the smirk that slides over his face.

"So," Sam shifts, crosses his arms across his chest as he glances back up. 

The skin around the tattoo on his chest looks darker. Dean remembers that; grabbing on tight to Sam's shoulders, biting right into the meat of his chest there as Sam pinned his hips down and rutted into him hard. Then he'd done the same to the mole right at the base of Sam's throat. The skin there looks bruised too. Dean's mouth goes dry as the memory of it goes straight to his dick.

"You're okay, right?"

Dean snorts, shakes his head and takes another gulp of beer, lets it roll over his tongue and it goes down warmer than it's meant to. "Kinda late for that question, don't you think? Maybe you should've asked around the time you were trying to pound me through the mattress?"

Sam tilts his head back a little, slant eyes hooded. "No. I think we did that part pretty well."

Yeah okay, Sam's got the right to feel a smug about that one. 

"I guess we did." He holds up his beer, points it at Sam. "Want one?"

"I'm good," he says with a shake of his head, flexing his shoulders back as he looks around. He pushes off the fence and settles next to Dean. The seat protests the extra weight with a creak of wood and it shakes as Sam makes himself comfortable. "It's nice out here."

"Yeah," Dean takes it all in again. He doesn't say anything when Sam scoots closer. It's been like this ever since he and Cas made it back; Sam there, warm and heavy at his side. Dean can admit this is nicer though, the skin on skin, their arms pressed together. 

It's good.

"Think we can stay here a bit?"

Dean looks over at him, surprised. "You want to?"

"Yeah. Some down time." Sam's not looking at Dean now, instead starting up the rocking of the swing again. 

The sheet slips, parting to leave a strong ankle on display, skin dusted with dark hair. Sam's mouth is tense though, lines tight, shoulders a little hunched. "I think we should be good for a day or two." He sighs and glances back over at Dean. "Listen. I know we're not in the clear and we've got demons trying to pin us down but—can we… We could stay. Maybe just. _Be_. For a little while."

Dean blinks. He hadn't really expected this. He can't even remember the last time they stayed put, not out of necessity but because they wanted to.

"Not too long. I mean. This—this is new too, you know?" Sam shrugs. "We could just. Take some time."

"Wow, Sam. You dirty dog."

"What?" Sam scowls, bitchy face coming on fast and he shoves at Dean. "Shut up, man. That's not what I meant." Then he's rolling his eyes and throwing his hands in the air. "Yeah okay, so I meant that too. But, come on. You don't want to?"

Dean twists around, putting his back to the armrest and pulling a leg up onto the seat. He balances the beer on his drawn up knee. "No, that's not what I'm saying."

Sam seems to relax at that. He nods, throat working. "I just mean—"

"Yeah," Dean says slowly, "I know what you meant Sammy. You wanna stay, we can stay."

The tight lines around Sam's mouth ease and he leans back again, eyes all soft. "You still sore?" 

Dean quirks an eyebrow at him. "Seriously?"

"Can't keep up?"

Not taking his eyes off Sam, he drains the rest of the beer and sets the bottle down. Then he slaps Sam's thigh hard and stands up. "Let's go big boy."

Sam chokes on a laugh at that one but he's right behind him. "Big boy? Really?" 

"Shut up and get in." But before he can pull the door open, Sam's crowding him in against the door.

"Dean." His hands are on Dean's hips, tucking into denim, thumbs rubbing down over the curve of Dean's ass because he can, because his hands are just that fucking huge. The knot of the sheet is pushing right against the crack of Dean's ass, making him think of something else entirely and Dean rests his head against the door.

"Now we're giving neighbors a show? You _little_ perv."

Sam huffs against his shoulder and turns his face into the side of Dean's neck, voice muffled. "God, you're an ass."

"Yeah, yeah." He rolls his shoulders back, shoving Sam back. "Part of my charm. And the neighbors can't actually see us," he points out.

"I know. _Dean_."

Dean sighs, let's Sam turn him so he's resting back against the door. He waits. 

Sam kisses him. Warm tongue licking at the seam of his lips, slipping inside when Dean opens for him nice and easy.

So easy. So fucking easy. 

He puts his hand on the back of Sam's neck, likes squeezing there with Sam's hair soft on the back of his hand, Sam's skin damp with sweat against Dean's palm. And if the kiss turns into something more desperate, if Sam forces his head back and fucks into his mouth and kisses hard enough to tear the corner of Dean's mouth, Dean doesn't mind. He gets it. So he reaches down and grabs a handful of Sam's ass and yanks him closer, grinds down hard against Sam's thigh, testing the knot on that ugly ass sheet.

By the time Sam pulls away, Dean's lips hurt and there's blood on his tongue. His dick is hard and wanting to bust its way out of his jeans. But he leaves his hand on Sam, keeps their heads pressed together, liking Sam's breath warm and harsh on his swollen mouth.

"Okay?" he asks.  
Sam nods. "Yeah."

And barely putting much distance between each other, they slip back inside the house, closing the door on the soft sounds of the night outside with the beer bottle glinting green by the swing.

They can get it tomorrow.


End file.
